


A Song of the Hound and His Lady

by waitingfortheworld0603



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingfortheworld0603/pseuds/waitingfortheworld0603
Summary: The Hound never left after the Battle of the Black Water. Sansa is to be married to Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey is not happy about it. Sandor Clegane is the hero that saves her from a night she thought was going to go a lot differently. This is a mix of both show and book canon.





	A Song of the Hound and His Lady

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how many chapters this will be, or if my schedule will be consistent. This will be more than a one-shot, I know that. This is also my first post on Archive, I used to post on FanFiction.net. Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes... Thanks for reading!

Sansa walked into the courtyard, vibrant auburn locks flicking in the wind, whispering the songs that the rush of air longed them to sing to her ear. The breeze wasn’t harsh or snapping. It cooled her pale skin under the sun in King's Landing, the slight chill reminding her of home. The idea that she had been away for as long as she had seemed crazy to her. Crazy was what her life seemed to now thrive on. She no longer felt the safety and security that the North had given her as a child, the home she had taken advantage of. Regretting the way she was, the spoiled mindset that lead her into her new life of terror and pain, she missed her home. She longed for the crypt where her Aunt Lyanna lied, where her Father now rested. She hoped to one day see the bright light of the early mornings again, the cold enhancing the sun's natural colours, filling her cerulean hued home with gold and amber flecks that shawn so bright that the sight of it would bless any passerby with its beauty. 

She missed Arya, her sister with the heart of a wild wolf, and the bite of one too. She missed her brothers, Robb and Branden, and how they would stop their sword lessons mid swing when she passed to give her a wave, with little Rickon stumbling after his dire wolf in the background. She even missed Jon Snow, the bastard she had hated, the brother she had never accepted until she grew out of holding onto such trivial things. She longed for her mother, craved the sanctuary she was always able to make no matter the environment. Most of all, she missed her Father. She missed the way she always felt protected in his presence, the way she had never had a doubt that anyone would ever hurt her. She missed the strength he gave her when he would remind her of their ways, the Stark ways, the characteristics that made them different from every other house. The nobility, the loyalty, the uncorrupted power they held but never long for. 

She rarely allowed herself to indulge in these thoughts, but as the wind flew by her, messing up the lovely braids her handmaidens had woven this morning, she couldn’t help but wish for even just a little while, that things would go back to the way they were. 

She put these thoughts aside as she saw King Joffrey headed toward her with a sway in his hips, and hand on his classic Lannister gold sword. His Dog followed behind dutifully, his spine straight and head high.  
“Why, my Lady, where have you been all morning? Avoiding your King?” he said with an arrogance that made her physically sick, and a tone that held the promise of pain. 

“No, your Grace-“ she stuttered, looking from Joffrey's blue irises to the steel grey of the Hounds. “I was only taking a walk through the gardens, the air this morning was lovely.” She looked back down to meet his skeptical gaze. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, sire.” Looked down at her feet, she waited for his order. She knew what this day meant.

“Yes, well you better learn to keep your feet still and your mind empty of these desires. You may be engaged to my Uncle, but I promise you, you will always be mine. Mine to take whenever I want.” He didn’t say it in a loving way, he didn’t possess her heart or her love. He said it in a way that made her feel like a slave, reminded her that though she may have a little more peace coming to her with the Imp in her bed, she will always be Joffrey's toy to play with when he was bored.

She only nodded her head and lifted her eyes to claim the Kings, not wanting to insult him with her lack of eye contact. He just smiled a cruel smile and stepped around her, walking triumphantly towards the Red Keep. The Hound looked down at her, his metal orbs catching her blue ones. 

“Keep your head up, Little Bird,” he rasped, eyes falling down her body. “I bet the Imps cock will please you far more than the Kings, with his desire for pleasure much greater than his desire for blood,” He met her eyes again. “No need to worry your pretty head about what's to happen today.” He lifted his thumb to the creased scar on her bottom lip where he once wiped her blood from. As quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, his being striding quickly after his charge. 

Sansa didn’t know how to feel about the Hound, the way their relationship had progressed since the night of the Black Water. Relationship? No not relationship. Friendship? Something of the sort, otherwise he would never have stayed when she asked… 

She quickly left those memories behind in the courtyards and followed after the King’s path, her off-white gown shifting as she turned. She followed them towards her next crazy obligation, towards her wedding to Tyrion Lannister. 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Tyrion had always been kind to her, always tried his best to treat her with respect, even though his family refused to even try. He was being forced into this just as much as she was, she knew that, but it was her fear of what the night would bring and what this truly meant that made her so nervous. She forgot that she would need to bend down for him to put the cloak upon her shoulders after Joffrey had lovingly moved the stool to the other side if the sept. She had embarrassed him, in front of all those people, as she towered above him and expected his reach to land on her high posture. This was embarrassing enough for him already, marrying a traitor's daughter that was nearly half his age. She regretted causing him this anguish, and understood how it all lead to his night full of drinking. She had a few cups herself to try and ease the sting the guilt of their wedding ceremony gave her. 

By the time the King called to the newly weds for the bedding, where Sansa would be stripped by the men within the keep and groped until she was thrown into a dark room with her new husband, awaiting to consummate their marriage, Tyrion was far down the drunken rabbit-hole. 

He was angry when Joffrey mentioned the tradition, trying to stand upon his chair to call out what was probably vile words of protest. Sansa wanted to save him from the fury that would fill Joffrey once he objected, wanted to lead him away as he once did her as she had tears in her eyes and bruises on her body, her clothes hanging off her shoulders. Remembering that moment reminded her of the white cloak that was placed upon her shoulders the moment before he was lead away, the man who had put that cloak there, but she didn’t have time ponder the Hound. 

She grabbed Tyrion’s hand, holding it down as his clumsy body slipped back into the chair with the strength of her hold, trying to meet his eye to tell him that it was alright. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been stripped in the throne room, but his eyes were drooping and loopy. He could hardly keep his eyes open let alone meet hers to interpret her meaning. Sweat began to pool on the back of her neck as she knew something bad was bound to happen. She began worry that in Tyrion’s drunken state he would say something fowl and get them both in trouble. Her brows knit together and she prayed he would stay down as Tyrion struggled to sit himself back in the wooden chair. 

As he began to stand again, she heard heavy footsteps off to the side, the sound of shifting metal and the thump of heavy feet. She looked up to see the Hound step forward to his King, bending down far to whisper something to his sitting superior. It only took a second, then he was tall again, broad shoulders straight and chin lifted up and forward. Joffrey looked up and smirked at his dog, waving his hand toward the room. 

“I’ve had enough of this dull affair, let the newly weds alone. I shall take my leave.” He stood, walking in their direction. He stopped in front of Sansa and Tyrion’s spot behind their dinner table and leaned forward to her ear. “I expect the consummation to be fulfilled tonight, or else I just might have to help my dear Uncle out, and do it myself.” He grinned an evil grin, looking to his drunk Uncle. He stepped away from her and walked off, the Hound trailing close behind without giving her so much as a glance. Sansa was finally able to breath. 

__________________________________________________________________________

By the time she convinced her new Husband to head back to their room, she was worried she gave him the wrong idea. She wanted a chance to be comfortable, to get out of her tightly corseted dress and to be free from the kingdoms watchful eyes. She wanted to take a second to process the night she’s had. With Tyrion’s incapacitation, she never thought that begging him to take her away would lead him to believe she wanted to be bedded by him. She only meant that she was tired, that she was fed up with this day. She was fed up with Joffrey. Though, she thought of his last threat, the idea that she would be taken either now by the Imp, or later by the King. Either option didn’t necessarily appeal to her, but she knew the King would send a maester in the morning to check on her maidenhood. To check to see if he was free to claim her for himself. Sansa would rather die then lay with the King now, though that may not have always been her thoughts. ‘Oh how things have changed…’

Tyrion led the way to his room, grumbling about the task it seemed he thought he would have to do. He didn’t seem happy, he didn’t seem like he wanted her either, but that he knew he had a obligation to her. Reaching the door, he pressed on the handle and stumbled into the room. Laughing at his trip, he looked back at her, the straight line of her lips doing nothing to deter his chuckling. He waddled at great speed to the wine on the table, pouring himself another overflowing cup and drinking it as though he had just come from the deserts across the sea.

She went to say something, went to ask what would happen now. Everyone knew of the Imps many sexual encounters, knew he might be able to guide her through this without much anguish. Just as he turned to face her, he slumped over on the ground, wine still in hand, passed out drunk. 

‘Oh no...’ Sansa thought. All she could think about as she stood in her wedding dress, her husband a few metres away, sleeping deeply with slight snoring, was the Kings smile as he left. She was doomed, it seemed. Cursed to take the King as her first lover, though she felt no love in her heart for him. He would take her painfully she knew. She would get no mercy from her bloodthirsty ruler. 

Stepping toward Tyrion, she crouched on the ground, desperatly shaking him to try and salvage the situation, to make it so she wouldn't have to endure what the King had planned. Tyrion’s body merely shifted and flipped onto his back, the snores growing louder and more pronounced then before. 

Sansa didn’t know what to do, what to feel. If she gave into fear of what was to come from Joffrey, she knew it would only make it worse, if she did have to endure him. She wanted to cry, to scream. ‘Why can’t I catch a break?’

Just then, she heard a light tap on the door, so light that if she were not so focused on her own thoughts, she wouldn’t have heard it under Tyrion’s snoring. ‘Shit…’

Scared it was Joffrey, or one of his knights that would tell, she took off her marriage cloak and laid it on Tyrion in an attempt to muffle his snores, to hide his body from prying eyes. She swiftly moved to the door on light feet, opening it just more than a crack to see who it was. For if she refused to open it, she knew there would be far greater consequences. 

To her surprise, there stood Sandor Clegane, within his black signature Hound armor from earlier tonight reflecting the light from the room back to her. She saw no sign of Joffrey with him, so she opened the door a little further to meet his gaze. She went to ask what he was doing there, when he cut her off with his own words.

“May I come in?” His eyes were pleading, though his face was the same stone straight as usual. Trying to keep up his mask of stability, the tough skin of the one side of his face was illuminated by the crack in the door. She looked back at her sleeping husband, wondering if he would tell Joffrey that they indeed were not able to consummate their marriage, when an image flashed through her mind, the night of the Black Water all over again, when he was sitting in the shadows of her room, asking her to leave with him. “I could keep you safe…No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them." She looked back into his silver irises, and nodded. 

She stepped aside, allowing his massive frame to squeeze through the small opening of the door. Once she closed and latched the handle, she turned to see him standing over the Imp, his back to her. 

“I knew if you answered the door, you wouldn’t be busy in bed with him. Knew that he would have fucked this up for you.” He turned and looked at her, his facing flaming with newly building anger. She didn’t know why he would care if she was in the marriage bed with Tyrion or not. 

“Why are you here?” she asked him slowly, softly. Making him angrier at a time like this wouldn’t help anyone, but she did want to know. He looked down her body again, eyes following the curves that her tightly bound gown accentuated, following the flow of her skirts to her feet before coming back up and hesitating at her chest. Looking back up to her eyes, he took a step forward.

“We both know what that little cunt will do to you if you’re not good and fucked by morning, we both know that without breaking your sweet little maidenhead tonight, you will have to deal with his little prick in you. Who knows if he’ll stop there,” He came closer again, his body a foot away from hers, head tilted down to keep their contact. “I bet you’d do anything to prevent that from happening. I know I’d do anything to keep you from him, from the pain he will surely give you.” She felt a tightening in her chest at his last words, her heart beating out of its cage at the idea he was presenting. She didn’t know why he came to this decision, but she understood what he was trying to say, even if he was having trouble coming right out with it. 

He lifted his massive hand once again, his fingers skimming the jagged vertical line on the side of her lip, a shade lighter pink that was hard to notice unless you knew it was there. This time it wasn’t a fleeting touch, then the image of him walking after his King. He drug the tip of his index finger along her lower lip to the middle, tugging to down lightly to feel the plump, softness. “What do you say, Little bird,” His words were clouded with something, and she couldn’t tell if it was his voice that made it seem lowly and deeper or her ears, but she liked the sound. He took another step forward. “Would you rather have an old dog for one night, or a bloody King?” The metal grey of his eyes looked smoky, smoldering. His scarred face a little less intimidating at the proximity of their faces. She could feel his breathe now, the heat of it sending chills down her body. He noticed her shiver. The burnt side of his lips twitched slightly, the tight skin pulling. Both his eyes were untouched by his mangled appearance, their intensity far more enchanting up close. 

Sansa couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. Her body acted of her own accord, no mind to stop her. Her fingers slid across the rough surface of his burns, moving up from the sharp edge of his jaw, to the space of his cheek. With her right hand not even taking up a quarter of his face, she moved her left hand to the scruff of his beard on the other side, the thick black hair scratching her palm. She seen things within his appearance she hadn’t before, the freckles, the scars, the few light wrinkles settled within. 

Before she could do it herself, he leaned forward and claimed her lips, his hand leaving her to grasp at her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He was so strong, she could feel his muscles tensing as he held her tight to his body, bent over to reach her mouth. Her hands never left his face, but as she succumbed to the feelings he gave her with his touch, she slipped her hands from his cheeks to the back of his neck, pulling him closer than even thought possible. His long curls were soft in her hand, as she slipped her right hand up into his hair, skimming his scalp with her nails, tugging lightly. Grunting at the sting she gave him, he slipped both hands down her back along her gown, hesitating at the top of her butt before going lower to clutch the expanse of her cheeks, lifting her slighting to meet his height more comfortably. Her heart nearly burst with pleasure. 

He was tall, so tall that she was afraid she was hurting him, that having to crunch in half to meet her mouth her would leave him with lasting effects. His armor didn’t help either, the stiff metal barely giving him enough room to bend to her will. Her worry didn’t last long. She clutched herself to him, lifting her leg to hook on his hip, her dress uncomfortably creating a barrier between there lower half, a barrier she was determined to break down as soon as possible. 

“Yes…” she gasped to answer the question he asked what seems so long ago. He looked into her eyes again, his orbs so dark with lust she nearly came just from looking at them. Her head nearly rolled back at his attempt at meeting her hips with his own, pressing his pelvic area as close to the junction of her thighs as possible within their position. His hand grasped at her skirt that was perched on his hip, along her calf, the stiff fabric and his rigid amour preventing anything further from happening. “Just take it off.” Reluctantly releasing her hold on him, sliding her leg down along his own. 

She turned her back to him, lifting her now frizzy orange locks from her back to allow him access to her ties. Thinking he would take it slow, unlace her one tie at a time until he could slowly peel the fabric from her body, she was pleasurably shocked when he roughly grabbed at her. He was not as patient as he could be with a young girl that had hardly even kissed another before. Tugging her closer to him, he slipped part of his hands down her back in between the fabric and her skin, grasping the back of her bodice. With little effort, he pulled his hands apart, the seams ripping strand per stand. She gasped, shocked at his strength, at his utter need for her. He shoved the dress down her body, taking no care to protect the now tattered pieces of her once beautiful gown. Sansa couldn’t find it in her to care. She turned back around to face him, her underclothes the only thing standing between him and the view of her most sacred places. 

Sansa ached for him in places she never knew could ache, crevices she never thought could cry and whine to the rest of her body for assistance. Begging for more, pleading for attention. She stepped towards her Hound, hands sliding up the hard plains of his breastplate, tugging at the leather collar peeking out at the junction of his neck. As seductively as she knew how, or rather guessed how, she peered up at his eyes from under her long lashes. “Your turn, ser.” 

He forcefully yanked her hands from the edge of his plating. “I’m no ser…” He rasped, voice even deeper than earlier. Tugging at the ties attached to his armour, he was able to remove the majority of his suit without help, but as he was left with just his chest plate, he was not able to reach the ties over his massive shoulders. Sansa walked behind him without invitation, her nimble fingers untying the metal from his back and chest, leaving him only in his tunic. She slid her hands up his lower back towards his shoulders, rounding them then heading back down to his pants. Looking at his toned, muscled butt, Sansa could hardly hold back her hands from grasping his thick glutes.

The Hound chuckled. “You’ve become good at pretending, Little Bird. I could almost believe you want this.” Turning to face her, his finger coming up to fiddle lightly with the strap holding her small clothes to her chest. “Maybe for one night, I’ll let myself believe the lie…” 

Leaning forward with a speed she didn’t think he could possess with how large he was, he enveloped her within his arms, mouth attacking her neck. The sensations created from the sucks and kisses he presses to her throat made her moan wantonly.

‘When will he finally take me?’ she couldn’t help but think. This may have been a surprise, this whole situation a little confusing seeing as neither of them really expressed their need for each other before, but she knew. She knew that she had always wanted something more from him, she was just too young and naive to know what it was. The way she would always look for his eye when he was in court, the way he always popped into her mind when she allowed her thoughts to wonder. He was always there in her head, since that first day in Winterfell when he came in wearing his charcoal coloured Hound’s Helm. 

These sudden revelations within her mind made her bolder, not wanting to scare him away with her need but also not wanting him to continue to believe that she never thought of him in a kind light. As he continued to leave purple marks up and down her neck and chest, she reached her small palms out towards his lower region, skimming her finger lightly but firmly over the large bulge that has been nudging her for attention ever since they started this. He groaned into her skin, but made no move from her, only pressed her harder against his unyielding body. 

With his reaction, she was able to gain a little more confidence, her desire suddenly not focussed on her own pleasure, but his. The rumble in his chest made her feel good, as good as his touch did. She wanted him to feel pleasure, because it made her feel just as good as it did him. She forced her little hand between his breached, ties forgotten, and snaked her fingers around his member, barely able to wrap the circumference of the rod in his pants. He grunted loudly, biting her skin a little at the contact, and pulled away from her to look down at what she was doing. 

The space he granted her made it all the more possible to start moving her hands along his penis, enjoying this new thing she had never felt before. The veins and skin along it were soft, softer than she would have thought seeing how rough and scratchy the rest of his body had been thus far, and it was stiff. Stiff as a board it seemed, the harsh, ridgid thickness making her wet in all the right places. 

Exploring his manhood only lead him to be even more impatient, more excited even it seemed. He liked the way she put herself out there, that she didn’t just sit there and let this happen to her. She was willingly participating, and it made the night even better then it was going to be. 

Growing jittery with her lack of experience, Sansa decided to do something she knew how to do, to undress him the rest of the way. Pulling her hands from his manhood, she yanked at the ties concealing what she really wanted. He grinned sadly as he tried to meet her eyes during her rushed task. 

“There will be no foreplay tonight, Sansa.” Her name falling from his lips made her look up shocked, her attention fully on him, motivation forgotten. ‘He never says my name…’ The Hound looked almost apologetic. “I know tonight of all nights should be the time to warm you up, prepare you for the pain to come, but I won't be able to stop the pain as it is, and we can’t be found out.” He grasped her shoulders, walking her backward toward the bed, her bottom hitting the mattress. “Joffrey might already be wondering where I ran off to. We have little time and if we are caught, both of us are as good as dead. If he is in a merciful mood, that is.” Reaching down to grab her thighs, he lifted her to sit on the edge of the bed, the height allowing her entrance to line up with his still clothed member. He cringed as he said his next words. “I hope you’ll forgive me, I would never want to hurt you, but I’ll take it slow at first,” As he spoke, he pulled her underclothes off, disregarding them on the floor, her womanly parts turning his attention but not making his words falter. “I know I will not be able to hold back forever, though...” This was all happening so fast, it was not supposed to happen this way. She hadn’t thought about the way it could be, should be, until his words brought her mind back to the way the world should have been, the things her new home in King's Landing had taken from her. Her chance at feeling gentleness, at feeling love.

The idea that Sandor Clegane was here, and not Joffrey or Tyrion, made her feel better about this night that was about to be stolen from her. Even with her new husband passed out on the floor a few feet away, with the Hound, she knew she could feel safe, cared for even in this secret coupling. The fact that it was him made her insides curl in a pleasurable way, gave her the comfort that this wouldn’t be a painful or awkward affaire, besides the breaking of her maidenhead. He would make her feel pleasure, he wouldn’t only take what he wanted from the Lady Stark, but he would give as well. In this bed with this man, they were equals, sharing experiences that made them want to save each other from the horror that would follow if this forbidden exchange did not take place. 

She reached for his britches again, but he beat her to the punch. He roughly slid both his pants and his underclothes to the ground, promptly kicking them from his ankles. The feeling of his engorged cock hardly did it justice, for in sight it was a near perfect specimen. Both length and girth, she knew that he would have no problem making her feel pleasure with only his member. She also knew that it would be a problem trying to fit him inside her. 

He leaned over her slightly, his body now free to line up with her folds. She was still perched on the side of the mattress, her legs spread wide now, hanging off the edge of the bed on either side of his thighs. Holding the shaft of his manhood, he slid the tip up to her clit, all the way down to where her hole was, and back up. Pulling back slightly, she could see a glistening sheen coating his red, engorged organ. She giggled and looked up into his eyes, resting back on her elbows, and bringing her legs to wrap around his hips. “Guess you were worried for nothing,” She could see the smile he was holding back as he noted her wetness as well. She went to say something else, but he bent over her further, his hands resting beside her hips, his head just above hers. She could feel the heat of his body enveloping hers. He lined up their mouths, and she closed her eyes, thinking he would kiss her. She was wrong. 

He brought his hand up to the top of her throat under her chin, his long fingers wrapping along her jaw, skimming her lips. “Look at me,” He grunted sternly. She opened her eyes as he let go of her face to see him looking down at where their bodies would meet, lining up at her entrance then meeting her gaze with his own. His eyes were filled with lust and something else she couldn’t place. ‘Concern? Abortion?’ Sansa didn’t have much time to ponder such things as his muscles clenched and he began to press into her, the large head of his penis clearing the way through her folds for the rest of his shaft to fit. 

He was large, oh so large. She couldn’t imagine how such a immense mass could fit inside such a small tunnel. For now all she felt was a stretch, her walls spasming at first as they struggled to take his girth. It wasn’t without difficulty and a little bit of discomfort, and as he began to push against her hymen, she knew the pain would come. He stopped before he broke through the thin stretch of skin. 

The intensity at which he stared into her eyes would have made her uncomfortable normally, but in this moment, she didn’t care, all she wanted was him. “I’m going to take you Sansa,” he said, voice straining with his effort to resist slamming into her. “I’m going to take you, and there won’t be any turning back, I will be your first.” Thrusting slightly he broke through her maidenhood while she was still distracted by his words. A sharp pain spread through her, a pain that was deep within her body. He had done it, he had saved her. She let out a gasp as he moaned. Hiding his face in the space of her neck, kissing it lightly, he whispered to her as he slowing pushed further then she thought was possible. “I way not be the pretty knights you’ve always dreamed of,” He continued, bottoming out inside her. “But you’ll be damn sure that you won’t leave tonight wishing that you had fucking King Joffrey’s little gants smacking your ass as he fucks you like a whore.” She could feel him nudge her cervix to make room for himself. The pain was sharp, but not as sharp as it had been when breaking her hymin, more dulled and achy. A kind of delicious ache that caused her to arch her back and neary scream out, but all that slipped past her lips was a high whine that only seemed to spur him on. It didn’t take her body long to replace all the pain with overwhelming pleasure. 

“Let’s not talk about Joffrey,” she basically whispered, her voice breathy and distracted. 

He pulled back quickly at her words, motivated by her sounds and began a demanding pase, grinding into her with a rhythm that made her want to cry it felt so good. He didn’t take her quickly at first, but as the seconds went by, his tempo sped up, and she could hardly remember anything but how good it all felt. He groaned loudly, his body expressing his pleasure the way it instinctively knew how. He was pounding into her so hard, she thought he was trying to nail her to the mattress. The Hound grunted into her ear, “I told you I couldn’t hold back forever…” 

She whimpered, the sound of his voice making her insides tingle with the combination of his thrusts. Her body started to tremor throughout her thighs as she felt the pressure of her pleasure increase, his speed picking up as her walls clenched and moistened even more. She let out a thundering scream as she came, her body shaking from the force, his hands coming to hold her hips so he wouldn’t slip from his pase. She wanted to shout his name from the mountains, praise his skills to the heavens, but she knew that her cries could already be considered suspicious, and calling out to another man wouldn’t help matters. 

Feeling his member begin to throb, she knew he was close as well, his pase becoming erratic and his grunts misplaced. She was still in her own little world, her orgasm nearly sending her to the stars it felt so good. Her eyes stung with the need to release some of the tension she built by holding back the sounds her body begged her to release. His safety meant more to her then allowing herself these indulgences, but as he began to pump into her with such a force her body nearly broke in half, should couldn’t help it. Lifting her back off the mattress, she clutched at his back, nails leaving long tears across his ribs and shoulders. She pressed her lips to his ear, her heavy breathe pouring into his skin. Whispering so no one could hear, she said the name she had only ever said to herself, in the middle of the night with her hands under her shift, fiddling between her legs. “Sandor…” It only took a second, then he let out a booming roar, and it was done.


End file.
